


The Druid Consort

by bluevalentine69



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Alpha Arthur, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Arranged Marriage, Bestiality, Blow Jobs, Bottom Merlin (Merlin), Destiny, Druid Merlin (Merlin), Fate, First Time, Fluff and Humor, Funny, Handfasting, Hurt/Comfort, Innocent Merlin, Knotting, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mating Bites, Mpreg, Older Arthur, Omega Verse, Prince Arthur, Psychic Abilities, Rimming, Smut, Soul Bond, Soulmates, Top Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), True Mates, Wedding Night, Werewolf Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Werewolf Mates, Werewolf Sex, Wolf Sex, experienced arthur, newlyweds, younger merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2020-03-01 06:11:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18794557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluevalentine69/pseuds/bluevalentine69
Summary: 27-year-old Alpha Prince Arthur has been married off to 16-year-old Druid Prince Merlin to unite their kingdoms.Meeting for the first time at dawn to be handfasted by the customs of Merlin’s druid people - and expected to mate that night by the customs of Arthur's wolf-people - neither prince is best pleased by the situation. Tomorrow they will belong to each other in body and soul.Turns out, married life's not so bad ...





	The Druid Consort

**Author's Note:**

> About the Underage warning: in the UK, 16 is the legal age of consent, and Merlin is 16 when the story starts. However, in some US states, 18 is the age of consent, so I've marked the fic as 'Underage' just in case, for wider audiences.

Arthur sits back in his chair wearily, leaning his head against the intricately carved wood, carefully swirling the amber mead in his goblet and observing the young boy who has just entered his room in nothing but a white nightgown, fidgeting at the doorway.

“You may leave us,” Arthur instructs the guard behind him, letting his eyes run over the skinny figure in front of him as the guard bows deeply and exits the room, closing the door behind him. At twenty-seven, his father, King of Camelot, had decided to marry him off to a young druid prince of the House of Emrys, Merlin, to unite their kingdoms against the threat of Cenred of Escetir and his dark sorceress consort. They met for the first time at dawn today, to be handfasted by the laws of Merlin’s druid people, and tonight - now - his _husband_ is being delivered to him for mating, as demanded by the laws of Arthur’s wolf-people. Tomorrow they will belong to one another legally, and in body and soul. Arthur is tired of belonging to everyone but himself.

“Why are you just standing by the door?” he asks tiredly, taking a deep draught of mead. Merlin looks distastefully towards the bed and shrugs uncertainly. He’s sixteen - a fawn of a boy, really - all long slender limbs, knees and elbows, too big ears and teeth, doe-blue eyes, soft, downy dark curls and milky white skin. He’s arresting to look at, certainly. Arthur rolls his eyes at Merlin’s theatrics and gestures pointedly at the other carved armchair by the fire, softened with furs. Merlin comes and sits in the chair, brazenly staring at Arthur. Arthur splays his legs a little and lets him look; he knows people like what they see. Broad shoulders, muscled thighs and calves, strong arms, capable hands, gold hair and bronzed skin and blue eyes. Merlin’s eyes widen at the bulge in his trousers and he frowns suddenly and looks away into the fire. “Well I suppose I’ll have to decide what to do with you now,” Arthur muses, pouring out another glass of mead and handing it over to the boy. Merlin shakes his head and slides off the chair and onto the floor, inching himself closer to the fire. He settles comfortably, cross-legged, and rests his elbows on his knees, face in his hands as he turns to look at Arthur again. Consideringly, Arthur thinks. He’s started to wonder whether he’s been married to a half-wit mute when Merlin shifts, some expression stirring in his face.

“I like drawing,” he says suddenly, looking at Arthur enthusiastically. “And reading. Working with animals - healers too. My father said you had a court physician who I might help? Really I can very well occupy myself, so you needn’t spend much time with me at all.” Arthur almost smiles as Merlin looks towards the door hopefully. He certainly isn’t what Arthur was expecting.

“What if I have use of you?” he asks innocently, quirking a suggestive eyebrow at Merlin. Merlin looks horrified, and shakes his head.

“You will have no use of me Sire, I am certain that I have nothing of interest to you,” he refutes adamantly. “And anyway you’ll be far too busy with your -” he flaps a hand towards Arthur and wrinkles his nose - Arthur has to fight not to laugh - “well, whatever you do. Fighting, hunting. Do you spend much time as a wolf?” Arthur does laugh at that, finding, to his surprise, that he genuinely likes the boy. He’s an idiot, clearly. But there’s something about him.

“We pack hunt sometimes, yes. But really we live as humans most of the time. And now that I know something of _your_ interests, perhaps you might be interested to learn that I spend most of my days training the younger knights and riding out to help our distant villages suffering from invasion, theft from bandits. Not _fighting_ , Merlin.”

“Well if you’re _protecting the realm_ , I’m sure you _do_ fight then,” Merlin says sensibly, looking at Arthur with marginally less unease than he had five minutes ago, and far more challenge. Arthur smiles at him wolfily.

“I can assure you, I don’t fight. Very few people are as strong or as quick as I am. Mostly I just kill people.” Merlin gives an undignified squawk and huffs something that sounds suspiciously like _arrogant prat._ Arthur drains his goblet and sets it down, remembering their business for the evening. He extends a hand to Merlin. “Come,” he commands gently, keeping his face easy and neutral as Merlin flushes, grumbling as he clambers to his feet. He stands glaring at Arthur. “I said, come,” Arthur repeats, crossing his arms and ankles. Merlin mutters profanities to himself and walks towards Arthur like he’s wading through glue. When he’s in touching distance, Arthur reaches out to catch the corner of his nightshirt and pulls him until he’s standing between his legs. He keeps one hand on the back of Merlin’s leg, steadyingly. “You know what’s required of us?” he asks quietly, not wanting to scare Merlin.

“I know what we’re required to _say_ we’ve done,” Merlin replies boldly. “No-one would know if we didn’t. I could just -” he gestures towards the thick velvet curtain hanging over the doorway into his connecting chamber, “leave you in peace for the night, instead.”

“Have you lain with a man before?” Arthur asks, ignoring Merlin’s suggestion, soothingly brushing his fingers up and down his thigh, rubbing tender circles through the thin cotton material covering Merlin’s nakedness. “Or a woman perhaps?” Merlin whacks Arthur’s shoulder angrily at his teasing, making Arthur laugh again.

“I knew you’d be a prat,” he curses darkly.

“A sheep then?” Arthur smiles. Merlin snorts, and blushes again, looking down.

“No, never, Sire. As well you know.” Arthur nods, lifting his chin with one finger.

“You needn’t be afraid,” he says quietly, seriously. “I don’t plan to be rough with you. But we must mate, I’m afraid, and everyone most certainly _will_ know if we lie about it. When you’re mated by a were, your scent changes. It marks you as mine. Until you _are_ mine, you’ll still smell like you.” Merlin bites his lower lip, mulling the information over. Arthur can see he accepts logic and reasoning without fuss; he’s a clever young thing. Merlin nods tightly.

“I shall honour my responsibility then,” he says, looking directly at Arthur. Arthur doesn’t like the formality of his tone, it doesn’t suit him, he thinks, even though he’s only known him such a few short hours.

“You may even enjoy yourself,” Arthur nudges him lightly with his foot, standing up from his chair, so that they are chest to chest. Arthur is a head taller than Merlin, and he tilts Merlin’s chin back so that he can stroke fingers across his cheekbones, brush a thumb across his lips. Sliding his hands down, he grips the hem of Merlin’s nightshirt and begins to pull it upwards, drawing the thing up and over Merlin’s head, who has raised his arms obligingly. Arthur stands back and gazes at the rake-thin body, pink pebbled nipples, dark thatch of hair between two paper white, skinny thighs. Merlin crosses his arms over himself and huffs.

“My face is up here,” he mutters awkwardly, covering himself up as best he can. “Is this really necessary without clothes on?” His consternation and irritation about the whole thing delight Arthur to his core; it’s rare that anyone speaks truthfully to him. He feels enlivened.

“It will be more comfortable for you, later,” Arthur replies, stepping closer and running his fingers down Merlin’s back, lightly ghosting across the skin of his arse. “I generate more heat than the humans you’re used to, and we may be tied a while. You’ll be too hot in clothes.” Merlin accepts his logic, again without questioning. Arthur leans down and kisses him gently on the mouth. “I think you’re lovely,” he whispers, one hand cupping Merlin’s face, and the other lightly parting his cheeks, stroking the hot hidden skin between them. Merlin gasps against him, closing his eyes and letting his fingers curl against Arthur’s chest. Arthur kisses his head. “Go to my bed,” he murmurs, rubbing Merlin’s hole lightly. “I shall join you very shortly.” Merlin nods and stumbles backwards, scrambling to get into the bed and under the sheets as quickly as possible. Arthur goes to his cabinet and extracts the vial of oil and healing balm he knows they will need, walking over to the bed and placing them carefully on his bedside table. Merlin glances at the small bottles and then looks away quickly, reddening again. Arthur slowly strips out of his shirt and loose trousers, pulling back the bedcovers until Merlin is once again exposed, and then climbing into bed and looking at him. He can feel the wolf in him awakening as he kneels over Merlin, leaning down and pressing his nose into his neck, deeply inhaling, licking the softly beating pulse point at the base of his throat where he will be bitten, later. Merlin’s breath is stuttering and every inch of his skin is flushed pink, but his eyes are closed, and so Arthur continues to map Merlin’s body with his nose and tongue, exploring him, learning him. Merlin groans when Arthur licks his cock, putting his arms over his face in embarrassment, but his hips stutter upwards encouragingly as Arthur continues to suckle him, hardening under Arthur’s attentions, leaking, more when Arthur licks away the beads of salty precum. He gasps when oily fingers suddenly breach him, stroking his insides, and when a particular spot is touched his eyes fly open in shock and he’s releasing himself wordlessly down Arthur’s throat, shouting silently. Arthur releases his cock and kisses his thigh, his belly, his nipples, his throat, working his way back up Merlin’s body and kissing the corner of his mouth. “Good?” he asks smugly, leaning on one elbow and stroking Merlin’s soft belly with the other hand. Merlin looks flushed and dazed but he nods at Arthur.

“No-one told me there would be pleasure,” he says, confused. “Just pain.” Arthur’s smirk dies on his lips. Merlin turns to look at him.

“When wolves mate - alphas and omegas - the omega wolf naturally lubricates and it makes the entrance easier,” Arthur explains, knowing now how Merlin likes information, reasoning; understanding helps him to feel calm and in control. Arthur strokes his face. “You won’t have that lubrication, which is why we use the oil to ease the way a little. But I can’t deny that it might very well hurt you. Especially when I knot you. I’m sorry that can’t be helped. One day, when we want to bear children, your magic will change your body to allow that to happen. Interbreeding between weres and druids is centuries old. It may be easier for us to bond, then.” Merlin nods at him and opens his legs a little.

“I trust you,” he says simply, unguardedly, freely inspecting Arthur’s face and looking unafraid by what he sees. Arthur bows his head slightly at that compliment and kisses the corner of his mouth again. Merlin presses his lips back, innocently, dryly, but in a gesture of goodwill and acceptance that Arthur is thankful for.

“Roll onto your belly for me and draw your knees up,” Arthur instructs him, leaning over to get the vial of oil and pouring it over Merlin’s crack, over his own cock. He places a pillow under Merlin’s groin, so that his arse is raised for Arthur, his cheeks opened by Merlin’s splayed legs. Merlin’s face is pressed into another pillow which he’s clinging to tightly. His body is tense. Arthur kneels behind him, getting his cock into position, and then strokes his back, the curls at the nape of his neck, bends down to lick his spine. He keeps up his ministrations until Merlin is soft and pliant, rutting a little against the pillow, face turned to one side, the picture of open vulnerability. Arthur holds his hips and lines up. “Easy now,” he murmurs, pushing himself in, slowly but steadily until he’s buried inside Merlin to the root. He looks down at where their bodies are joined, his cock deep inside his lover, and is struck, for the first time, by the intimacy of this act. He’s never much noticed with previous lovers. Merlin’s face is scrunched up, his fists squeezing the sheets tightly, his eyes veering from being screwed shut to blinking emptily at the sheets in front of him. He strokes Merlin’s flanks and pumps against him a little, letting him adjust to the sensation. “Ready?” he asks, leaning forwards over Merlin’s narrow body and pressing him into the sheets, his weight a reassuring presence.

“No,” Merlin grimaces, “but I’d rather just get this over with.” Arthur nods and begins to push in and out of Merlin’s body as gently as he can, cradling his body in his arms, licking his neck, feeling his wolf begin to respond to his actions, his need to rut and claim beginning to cloud his mind. He pulls back and lifts Merlin to sit on his lap, chest to Arthur’s back, and then lifts him up - feather light - and slams him down on his cock, over and over and over, until Merlin’s staunch facade crumbles and he’s crying out, face crumpled with pain, and then Arthur’s knot begins to grow so he thrusts the base of his cock inside Merlin quickly so that it can grow inside him and stretch him open naturally. Merlin screams through gritted teeth as the knot pops inside him, shaking in Arthur’s arms, but Arthur’s too far gone to stop now; he’s found the pulse point at the base of Merlin’s throat, lowered his canines, and is slowly sinking teeth into his flesh as he begins to pump Merlin full of semen. When he’s drunk his fill of blood, he licks Merlin’s throat and lowers them to the bed, spooning, arms wrapped around Merlin securely whilst they’re tied, Merlin being filled over and over with fresh come, stomach slowly expanding from it.

“We’re mated,” Arthur smiles against his mate’s throat, rubbing his swollen belly, pulsing from the fresh wave being pumped into it, licking his bleeding mating mark. Merlin nods in some sort of daze.

“I can feel your energy now,” he whispers. Arthur turns his face around and kisses him, brushing away the tears on his cheeks. Merlin parts his lips and lets Arthur’s tongue explore, languidly tangle with his. Arthur draws back.

“How much pain?” he asks, concerned. Merlin closes his eyes and turns his face back to his pillow.

“A lot,” he admits, without accusation. “I am told it will get easier.”

“Who says there will be a next time?” Arthur teases him. He can’t see Merlin’s face, but Merlin shrugs one bony shoulder.

“There will be a next time,” he says certainly. “You’re going to fall deeply - and frankly quite annoyingly - in love with me and insist on mating me for hours every night, every morning, run late for training every day. Your father’s quite put out about the whole thing. I enjoy that part.” Arthur’s eyebrows raise two inches and he stares at the side of Merlin’s face.

“Are you a soothsayer?” he asks, surprised. Merlin shrugs again.

“I do have visions, particularly related to my own destiny. Your energy and soul are bound with mine now, so obviously I can see yours too.” Arthur’s not sure how he feels about a stranger knowing the most intimate things about things he may one day do and feel. 

“Right,” Arthur says a little faintly. “Although,” he points out, rallying, “you could be making this all up for your own amusement, of course. I might actually think you’re a complete and utter idiot worthy of those ridiculous ears, after spending a bit more time with you.” Merlin smiles into his pillow.

“It’s true you might think that,” he agrees placidly. Arthur tightens his arms around Merlin, knot releasing another gush of fluid into the body pliantly accepting his seed.

“You said my father’s not happy about it, and that you enjoy _that part_.” Arthur nuzzles into Merlin’s neck, feeling oddly vulnerable. “Am I to take it that you don’t enjoy any other parts of our marriage? Not my friendship, or … not our mating?” Merlin gasps as Arthur’s knot finally breaks at that moment, softening inside him enough for Arthur to withdraw. Merlin winces as he does. A steady trickle of viscous fluid oozes out from his puffy, used hole and smears across his thighs. Arthur kisses Merlin’s shoulder and rolls him around to face him. “Hi!” he says with a grin. Merlin rolls his eyes but grins back. “So?” Arthur prompts him.

“So?” Merlin repeats blankly.

“So what about the question I asked you. About … my father.” Merlin’s mouth forms an _O_ in understanding. He nudges closer and puts his face on the same pillow as Arthur’s.

“I’ve dreamt about you since I was a baby,” he admits quietly, with a fond smile. “I’ve always known you are my destiny. I’ve always know you’d be a prat about it all too.” Arthur beams. Merlin shakes his head sorrowfully. “Very annoyingly, even more so for me than you, I’m sure, I’m going to fall quite ridiculously in love with you too. It seems a very strange idea to me now, of course. But we’re not just mates Arthur, we’re soulmates. Our fathers didn’t decide this for us, the universe did.” Arthur looks at the boy next to him, so young, so fragile, and yet somehow so wise and so old. Arthur feels the dynamic of power between them has shifted; Merlin holds all the cards. Merlin grins; he knows it too. “Also very annoyingly,” he continues, looking mildly disgusted with himself, “it seems that one day I am to enjoy that hideous ritual of mating very much. I’ve dreamed about, well …” he flushes and looks down. Arthur presses closer to him, sliding a leg between his.

“Yes?” he asks curiously. Merlin mutters some more profanities and Arthur’s heart begins to flutter with adoration every time that cross, grumpy scowl crosses Merlin’s face. Merlin groans, closing his eyes.

“I’ve dreamed about begging for it.” He shakes his head disbelievingly. “You’re at a desk - that one in your corner there - busy writing some treaty or something ignoring me and I …” Merlin shudders. “I’m quite a harlot about getting your attention.” Arthur throws his head back and laughs at this unexpected human he’s been gifted. This precious, exceptional, beautiful boy. Merlin peers up at him. “I’m going to try very hard to make sure that prophecy doesn’t come true,” he says solemnly. Arthur shakes his head, grinning ridiculously.

“I promise I’ll make sure you never have to beg for it,” he jokes. Merlin rolls his eyes again.“Prat,” he sighs, “truly a veritifiable clotpole.”

“Do you mean veritable?” Arthur asks.

“Same world,” Merlin replies sleepily, yawning. “Do you want me to go back to my room now?” he asks, rolling onto his back. “I don’t mind at all, you don’t know me yet, not really. You may have other lovers to keep you warm through the night.” He glances at Arthur sternly. “I won’t be putting up with them in the future, mind.” Arthur rolls to lean over him, heart already cracking like hardened earth, loosened as the seeds of love sprout through and into life.

“I’d rather you stayed,” he says honestly, kissing Merlin’s forehead. “Now and every night, if you wish. Some nights I do really have to work, but you can read with me. Of course, there’s a room for you of your own, should you prefer your own company from time to time. I won’t force myself on you.”

“I’ll stay tonight,” Merlin agrees cautiously. “Then I’ll see.” Arthur nods, amused. As an alpha he’d fully expected a compliant, easy mate. 

“Thank you,” he smiles, tilting Merlin’s chin until they’re nearly nose-to-nose. “And there will be no others from this night, I promise you.” Merlin’s face quirks.

“I promise that there will be no others for me either,” he says sleepily, closing his eyes, and Arthur thinks that it’s slightly odd for a sixteen-year old virgin to say such a thing. Merlin opens one eye and looks at him as though he’s guessed what he’s thinking. “You’re going to be a _beast_ to me about a knight of yours called Gwaine,” he explains. “We’ll meet him in a few years I think. He’ll keep flirting and I’ll keep saying no, and you’ll thunder around like a bear with a thorn in his foot until you realise he’s teasing you.” Arthur raises an eyebrow.

“Oh. Well, I’ll look forward to that then,” he says drily, settling down besides Merlin and pulling the young body into his arms. He yawns too, suddenly exhausted by the day’s proceedings. “Would you like some balm?” he remembers to ask. “It’ll make you less sore in the morning.” Merlin nods a little, half-asleep, so Arthur rolls to the side and scoops out a dollop of balm, and then slides his fingers between Merlin’s arse cheeks, pressing them slightly into and around his hole. Merlin snuffles into his shoulder as he rests back against his pillow, mouthing _thank you_ against his hot skin. Arthur’s heart melts and he knows he’s completely done for. He gently kisses Merlin’s curls and rolls over to blow out the candle. Just the embers of the fire are left to light the room, glowing like red eyes from the hearth.

“You’ll want to mate me again when you wake at dawn,” Merlin whispers, tongue licking against the muscles of his shoulder. “Put some more balm on me then too, before the oil. It’s numbing, it might help me get used to sharing my body.” Arthur’s cock twitches at the thought and he thinks it very strange that for all the beautiful, sexual, sinuous, nubile young men and women he’s had between these sheets, none of them have had the effect on him - or his cock - that this innocent, inexperienced young druid boy seems to wield.

“You can have the whole jar if it keeps you unhurt,” Arthur whispers back, and sleep claims them both.

 

*

Merlin really _isn’t_ what Arthur expected. Or the rest of the court, apparently. His parents have left the castle now, returning to their own home in the forests that divide Escetir and Camelot. Merlin was expected to fall into Camelot’s customs at their departure; attend the omega den, begin to breed for the Crown Prince. Instead, to the intense suspicion of everyone except Arthur, he spends most of his days collecting herbs for Gaius, sitting with him in the apothecary and mixing potions to help Camelot’s sick citizens. If he’s not in the apothecary, he’s in the library, and if he’s not in the library, he’s in the gardens talking to the birds, or the stables talking to the horses, or up on one of the battlements, painting the sky in colours he mixes himself. All in all he’s stayed true to his initial assertion that he can very well occupy himself. Arthur would, perhaps, be a little offended by Merlin’s complete independence, if it weren’t for the small gifts he finds around his room daily. Drawings of dragons, poems about larks, a rhyme about a knight gadding about with pixies, wildflowers, handmade balms with scrawled labels like, ‘Administer after the FIGHTING.’ It’s all silly stuff, but every time Arthur finds a new token it makes him smile, to know that Merlin has thought of him. And then there are their evenings, when Arthur has finally retired to his chambers, to find Merlin always waiting for him, usually engrossed in a book. He smiles when he sees Arthur, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and they take supper together, talk about their days, play games by the fire. Merlin sleeps by Arthur’s side, curled against him like a cat, and Arthur is content just to have his mate in his arms, to be able to breathe in his scent, his warmth.

Some nights - and Arthur’s never certain what prompts these sudden moments of curiosity in his mate - some nights Merlin mouths tentative kisses to Arthur’s shoulder where his head is resting, blinking up at him in shy, nervous invitation, and Arthur makes love to him ardently, pressing kisses to every inch of his skin, burying himself deep inside his lover, nuzzling his mating mark, extracting release after release from him. Merlin is an increasingly responsive lover. He tilts his neck for Arthur’s kisses, lifts his hips for Arthur’s entrance, arches his back on penetration, drawing his legs up and around Arthur’s waist. He climbs onto Arthur and draws his face, his mouth, down to where he wants its attention; his own lips, his nipples, his cock. Arthur rewards him for his courage, every time. He flushes at the slightest attention, pink wonder spreading like spilt ink across his silk skin, gasps and soft groans and powerless _keens_ escaping from his lips when he’s really lost himself. There’s still the pain that Merlin’s adjusting to as a sensation mixed with pleasure; he doesn’t always enjoy it, Arthur can tell. But he keeps _trying_ , and that means the world to Arthur. And as he gets braver, once Arthur has extinguished the candles, he allows himself by the light of the dying embers to explore Arthur’s body too. Arthur finds his experimental attentions strangely and intensely erotic; like he’s an unsolved puzzle that Merlin’s piecing together. He rubs Arthur’s nipples and watches his face carefully for his response, licks the crease between his thigh and groin, takes Arthur into his warm, soft mouth, somehow kissing him and deftly milking him at the same time, until he’s swallowed every drop that Arthur has to give him. Arthur’s well-pleased indeed with his husband. He’s equally amused, surprised, impressed by him, increasingly _obsessed_ ; he misses having the boy near him during the day, he worries for his safety and happiness. Love, indeed.

*

The night before he’s due to leave to defend Camelot’s northern borders against an invading force from Mercia, Merlin arrives in his room in only his nightshirt, a small wrapped package in his hands. Arthur looks up from the maps on his desk and smiles.

“I missed you at supper this evening?” he enquires, standing upright and putting his hands on the table. “Are you alright?” Merlin nods and comes over to him, handing over the simple bundle. “For me?” Arthur asks.

“For luck,” Merlin explains, “and protection. I was finishing them earlier.” Arthur unwraps the muslin and finds a rabbit’s foot inside, inked with a druid blessing - a favourite token of good fortune - and a large piece of amber held by a silver dragon’s claw on a length of leather cord. “I put my magic inside this,” Merlin says, gesturing towards the stone. “It will keep you safe and bring you home. It glows green when it senses wolfsbane, to warn you.” Arthur strokes the stone, amazed, and thinks he can feel a subtle warmth emanating from it.

“I can feel you in it,” he murmurs, tying the cord around his neck, and pressing the stone to his heart, touched by Merlin’s care. “Thank you, Merlin,” he smiles, kissing Merlin’s soft, dark curls. “You never fail to surprise me.” Merlin pushes into his arms and holds him tightly.

“You should take me with you,” he breathes against Arthur’s chest. “I should be there to protect you in person. That’s my job.” Arthur wraps his arms around the narrow body pressed against him and leans down to bite gentle kisses into the skin at Merlin’s neck.

“I’d be too worried about you to do _my_ job well,” Arthur whispers, drawing back to look at Merlin earnestly. “The battlefield is no place for you, Merlin. Stay and be safe, for me, please.” Merlin releases an unhappy sound, taking Arthur’s face in his hands.

“I could stay in the camp, and heal the wounded knights returning? I know I wouldn’t be much good on the battlefield itself. Even if it was magic against magic and not sword against sword, I still wouldn’t wish to fight. I’m not an _idiot._ ” The annoyance with which he says that makes Arthur smile and his heart jump.

“No,” he agrees, smiling, “you most certainly are not an idiot.” Merlin closes his eyes and rests his head against Arthur.

“So can I come then?” Arthur sighs and shakes his head, stroking Merlin’s back.

“No, Merlin.” Merlin draws back as if to protest, but Arthur puts a finger to his lips. Merlin eyes him accusingly. Arthur kisses his brow and pulls away to sit in his chair, rolling up his maps and wrapping them in skins. “If we lose,” Arthur says, carefully looking at the table, tracing the grain of wood with his forefinger, “ _if_ we lose, the first thing our enemies will do is raid our camp. You would be a precious find indeed.” Arthur says, looking sick. “I won’t have them touch you Merlin. The thought of it alone distracts me from defending the kingdom.” He continues to stare at the table as he realises how true those words are, what a weakness he has now. A weakness that is currently scrambling into his lap.

“You’re a prat,” Merlin says fondly, seating himself firmly in Arthur’s embrace pecking kisses to his cheek. “A big, arrogant, stupid, prat.” He looks delighted about the fact his husband is a prat, however, and Arthur grins and relaxes, wrapping a hand round Merlin’s bony ankle, cold foot pressing into his thigh. Merlin’s face falls again, eyes brimming with unshed tears.

“What is it, dearest one?” Arthur asks, gently stroking Merlin’s cheekbone.

“Mordred,” Merlin mutters angrily, wiping his eyes and glaring at Arthur.

“And who is Mordred?” Arthur enquires, baffled, holding Merlin carefully.

“You’ll meet him on the way. He’s the younger son of House Morgause. He wants to be one of your knights. He’ll come to your tent when you arrive at the Dark Woods.” Arthur raises a curious eyebrow at Merlin. “In a _robe_!” Merlin snaps. Arthur can’t help it, he giggles. Merlin glowers at him and that makes him giggle even more. “Arthur!” Arthur tries to school his face into seriousness.

“I think you’ve ruined Mordred’s lovely surprise for me,” he says ruefully, chuckling again at Merlin’s outraged squawk. “ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur chides him, holding his face still. Merlin blinks at him crossly, like a disgruntled owl. “You’ve foreseen this war, yes?” Merlin huffs a yes. “Could you start, perhaps, by telling me the most important information. Like - anything we’ll need to know to win?”

“You’re going to win anyway,” Merlin scoffs dismissively. “You’ll be back in three weeks.” Arthur leans back and laughs again. “I take it back, you _are_ an idiot.” Merlin’s eyebrows shoot into his hairline. “Tell me, my little mystic,” Arthur asks, smirking at Merlin. “Is all this wanting to protect me malarkey -” he holds up the white rabbit’s foot and points to his necklace, “- and wanting to come to war, really just a ruse to stop me from bedding a lustful knight?” Merlin opens his mouth to object, but a tell-tale flush spreads up his neck and into his cheeks. Arthur tips his head back and laughs, again.

“I knew you’d be safe anyway,” Merlin mutters defensively, “I saw the outcome of the war, remember? If I didn’t know the outcome, then of course I’d be worried. And I wouldn’t _suggest_ coming along in that case, I just would, whether you liked it or not.” Arthur grins.

“Couldn’t you see how I responded to Mordred?” he asks, genuinely curious. Merlin makes a cross, sad sound and shakes his head. Arthur stands decisively, picking up Merlin and carrying him over to the bed. He quickly strips and then peels Merlin’s nightshirt off and crawls between his legs, suckling at his soft cock. He waits for Merlin to grow hard and then rolls his pliant body over, parting his cheeks and burrowing between them, nosing at Merlin’s rosebud hole, licking it, licking inside. Merlin is gasping into the sheets and Arthur’s suddenly struck with an idea. He kisses up Merlin’s spine until his body is blanketing him and whispers into his ear. “Do you trust me?” Merlin nods breathlessly, so Arthur kisses his neck and murmurs “then don’t be afraid of me, please,” and shifts into a wolf behind him. He can sense the tremor in Merlin’s body, the sudden stiff unease, so he nudges him with his snout and licks his face until his mate is shaking with little puffs of air - laughter. He moves back down Merlin’s body to his arse and flicks out his long wolf tongue, lapping at his hole, his perineum, his taint, back to his hole, until Merlin is mewling and writhing beneath him. He works the wet tongue inside Merlin, tongue-fucking him until he knows he’s found the magic button, and he laps at it, milks it, until Merlin is spurting hot ropes of white pearls into the sheets beneath him. Wolf-Arthur licks him clean and then moves to lie beside Merlin docilely. Merlin blinks at him and smiles, stroking his snout, scratching behind his ears, and Arthur almost purrs in pleasure. He shifts back. Merlin watches his transformation in awe.

“Hi Arthur,” he says shyly; embarrassed, perhaps, by Arthur’s actions. Arthur pulls Merlin to lie in his arms.

“I promised you there would be no others,” Arthur says seriously, making sure that Merlin understands. “I have no intention of breaking that promise, however many knights come to my tent offering themselves to me in _robes_. Am I clear?”

“Wolves need to rut,” Merlin says looking down. “It says in the Wolf-Verse in the library that an alpha may take many mates.”

“Do you see mates in our future?” Arthur asks calmly. Merlin shakes his head no.

“Well then,” Arthur soothes him. “Some alphas - especially alphas who meet their true mates - do only take one mate, for life. We’re soul-bonded Merlin. There won’t ever be another for me.” Merlin looks marginally appeased, but still worried. “Is it that you think I’m genetically hardwired to rut?” Arthur pauses and smirks playfully. “I have you for that, husband.”

“He really wants you Arthur,” Merlin whispers, pained, closing his eyes. “He has magic too. I can _feel_ his want for you. His energy is powerful.” Arthur draws Merlin to his body.

“He’s never met me, how could he want me? He wants the power of the throne, that’s all. I will not be swayed, Merlin. Wolves are impervious to enchantments. I’m safe from him.”

“Do you … are your needs met, with me? As an alpha? I know you’re always gentle with me, which isn’t how alphas normally rut.”

“I’m a very happy man,” Arthur reassures Merlin. “I enjoy mating you very much.”

“I want you to mate me without holding back,” Merlin requests, looking at Arthur directly. “Bed me as you’ve bedded your other lovers. Without restraint. From a place of lust and not love. That is, if you … do you lust for me?” It’s a hard question to answer. Merlin’s a young, innocent boy; Arthur feels protective about him, deeply loving of him, he wants to join with him as his mate, to love him physically. But no, he doesn’t feel the powerful undercurrents of lust - what he feels for Merlin is greater than that. It’s pure. He feels no need to _fuck him_ , roughly, as he might have fucked a previous conquest, because he could never be rough with his beautiful consort. What they share profoundly satisfies him, more so than any debauched endeavours from his wilder days. Merlin is drawing away from him, face downcast, body closing in on itself defensively.

“Stop,” Arthur commands, rolling to lie on top of Merlin, pressing him into the bed. “ _Merlin_ ,” he chastises warmly, nudging Merlin’s face towards his. “I never hold back when I’m with you,” Arthur whispers, kissing his head. “I give you everything that I am. It’s the others that I held back with. I want your body, Merlin. My carnal desire for you is strong.” Merlin curls against him, biting his lip nervously. “Because I love you,” Arthur says quietly, “it will always be more than lust for me.” Merlin pulls Arthur’s face to his own and kisses him hotly, sliding his tongue into Arthur’s mouth and languidly lapping his lips, tangling his limbs with Arthur’s.

“I love you too,” he gasps, body stuttering towards Arthur’s. “I love you so dearly, Arthur.” Arthur groans and reaches for the vial of oil by their bed. Merlin stills his hand. “I’ve been working on something,” he says, and then utters a word that sounds like _Lleithder_ , and his eyes burn gold, and Arthur is spellbound, until Merlin draws his hand between his legs and he finds Merlin’s hole dripping wet. “I’ve been working out how to recreate the Omega lubrication,” he explains, “so that my body accepts you more easily.” Arthur almost growls with need, pulling Merlin against him, chest to back, and then thrusting hard inside of his body. Merlin moans, but he’s tilting his head back towards Arthur, his back arched sinuously, and Arthur thinks he’s enjoying it as he fucks into him, arms pinning him tightly to Arthur’s chest, tongue fucking his mouth, invading every part of him, every one of his senses. When he feels his knot beginning to grow he pushes up Merlin’s knee and it slips inside easily, angled so that as he expands, the bulge stimulates Merlin’s prostate. Merlin is in wordless ecstasy. Arthur rubs his nipples, bites his neck, until he ejaculates glittery threads of cum onto the sheets, coming untouched for the first time. Arthur releases himself inside soon after, and they lie kissing each other passionately whilst they’re tied, bound together in all ways.

It’s some time later when Arthur withdraws, rubbing Merlin’s belly as he whines in protest. “Good?” Arthur murmurs, cradling his lover between his arms and legs. Merlin nods sleepily, rubbing his face against Arthur’s throat.

“No pain,” he sighs happily. “I could do that every night.” Arthur kisses him tenderly.

“I’m glad,” he whispers, pleased, relieved. “I couldn’t bear to always hurt you.” They lie quietly together, breathing in each other’s air, kissing, stroking, touching, fingers and limbs entwined. It’s deeply sensual and Arthur feels _connected_ to Merlin, as though they are one being, for the first time.

“I feel that way too,” Merlin murmurs, drawing circles with his thumb at the taught skin of Arthur’s hipbone. Arthur shifts a little, bonelessly lazy.

“Can you read minds now too?” he asks slyly.

“I can feel what you feel,” Merlin explains, and Arthur takes his hand.

“Then you should know you never have anything to fear from me,” Arthur says, and Merlin huffs into his shoulder, in gentle apology for his doubt.

 

*

 

When Mordred does indeed arrive at Arthur’s tent, sensuously wrapped in a silky robe, eyes darkened with lust, Arthur greets him pleasantly from behind his table of scrolls, examining the latest update from their patrol further down the border.

“Ah, you must be Mordred,” he says cheerfully, standing from his seat and extending his hand. “My husband said you’d be arriving at some point. I suggest for your sake that you don’t remove that robe,” Arthur quirks his head and smiles fondly. “I think he may have quite a hot temper underneath underneath all that guileless charm.” Mordred’s brow furrows.

“My lord?” he asks confused, stepping closer with wide blue eyes. The candle flames in the room suddenly jump higher.

“Alright, Merlin, calm down,” Arthur mutters. Mordred looks around the room hesitantly.

“Your consort is with you?” Mordred asks uncertainly. Arthur shakes his head.

“No, he’s just very powerful,” Arthur says easily, sitting down again. “He keeps rather a close eye on me, I’m afraid.” Mordred seems to take his words as an invitation, and steps forward again.

“Sire, many princes take more than one mate,” he says, smiling winningly, looking up at Arthur demurely from beneath his lashes. He really is quite a beauty, Arthur thinks impartially. The candles are are very close to becoming full-on wild-fire and Arthur rolls his eyes.

“Merlin is my true mate,” Arthur explains cordially. “I have no intention of ever taking another mate. Or,” he adds, seeing another spark of hope alight in Mordred’s eyes, “rutting with any other.” Mordred gazes downwards, clearly frustrated. Arthur takes pity on him. “I hear, that in a few years, we may have a delightful knight in our midst called Gwaine,” he offers casually, looking at his candles. “I think you’ll find that he’s very receptive to your advances.” Mordred looks confused. “That will be all, thank you Mordred,” Arthur says, briskly dismissing him. “Thank you for joining the knights of Camelot. It’s an honour to have House Morgause stand among us.” Mordred inclines his head and leaves the room gracefully. The flames simmer down to normal size again and begin dancing quite merrily, Arthur thinks, although it may just be that Merlin’s driven him mad.

 

*

When Arthur returns to Camelot three weeks after departing, just as Merlin had foreseen, his chamber is strewn with flowers and baskets of apples and happily singing birds.

“What in god’s name -?” he blinks, looking around his room in mild despair and gingerly picking his way across the floor to pick up the roll of parchment sticking out of one of the apple baskets.

_I congratulate you on your excellent plan for the Lord Gwaine, Sire._

 

“Idiot,” he scoffs, rolling his eyes to the heavens and praying for strength as he tries desperately not to stand in any fruit, wondering where on earth Merlin might be hiding. 

 

(Two hours later, having thoroughly searched the castle, he finds him under the apples on his bed).

 

*

The End

 


End file.
